I wanted the fame, but not the cover of Newsweek, oh well.
Guess beggars can't be choosey.
Wanted to receive attention for my music,
wanted to be left alone in public.
Excuse me

for wanting my cake and eat it too,
and wanting it both ways.
Fame made me a balloon
'cause my ego inflated when I blew, see.
But it was confusing
'cause all I wanted to do was be
the Bruce Lee of loose leaf.

Abused ink,
used it as a tool when I blew steam,
woo!
Hit the lottery, ooh, wee.
But with what I gave up to get it was bittersweet.
It was like winning a used mink.

Ironic, 'cause I think I'm getting so huge I need a shrink.
I'm beginning to lose sleep.
One sheep, two sheep,
going cuckoo and kooky as Kool Keith.
But I'm actually weirder than you think,
'cause I'm...

friends with the monster that's under my bed,
get along with the voices inside of my head.

Now, I ain't much of a poet,
but I know somebody once told me to seize the moment,
and don't squander it.
'Cause you never know when it all could be over tomorrow,
so I keep conjuring.
Sometimes I wonder where these thoughts spawn from.

Yeah, pondering'll do you wonders,
no wonder you're losing your mind, the way it wanders.
Yodel -odel -ay -hee -hoo!
I think it went wandering off down yonder,
and stumbled in to Jeff VanVonderen.

'Cause I need an interventionist
to intervene between me and this monster,
and save me from myself
and all this conflict.
'Cause the very thing that I love's killing me, and I can't conquer it.

Call me crazy, but I had this vision
one day that
I'd walk amongst you, a regular civilian.
But until then, drums get killed and I'm comin' straight at MC's.

Blood gets spilled and I'll take it back to the days that
I'd get on a Dre track.
Give every kid who got played that
pumped up feeling and s**t to say back
to the kids who played him.
I ain't here to save the f**king children,
but if one kid

out of a hundred million,
who are goin' through a struggle, feels it and relates,
that's great.
It's pay back,
Russell Wilson falling way back
in the draft.
Turn nothing into something.

Still can make that
straw into gold, chump.
I will spin
Rumpelstiltskin in a haystack.
Maybe I need a straightjacket, face facts.
I am nuts for real, but I'm okay with that.
It's nothing, I'm still...

friends with the monster that's under my bed,
get along with the voices inside of my head.